Silver Skies - Owen's had enough trouble taking care of himself over the years, he doesn't need the Rogues' issues too. Unfortunately he's stuck with them. For the RoguesBang'15.

Warnings: References to child abuse.

AN: Sort of during Blackest Night. (All you need to be aware of is that the dead were coming back to life and trying to induce emotions in the living, so they could feed on their hearts).

Also, be sure to check out the full-size version of the cover picture, drawn for me by the talented mashimero (link in my profile).

Owen swirled the dregs left in his cheap plastic cup and looked up at the statue of his father from his place seated on the ground. It didn't look anything like the man he'd met. If not for the boomerang in its hand and the nameplate, Owen wouldn't have been able to pick his father out of all the statues of people buried here.

Here, Avernus, where he'd only been once before for his father's funeral. Maybe it was because there were only five costumed weirdos in the place, rather it than near-overflowing with them, but it looked completely different to Owen's eyes.

The Rogues were in the middle of telling drunken stories about the dead. Owen was only half paying attention. He'd listened to some of the earlier ones about his dad, but everything from the earlier years just sounded ridiculous and Owen wasn't drunk enough to find them funny.

He really shouldn't have been there. He wasn't a Rogue. He was just someone who wanted to remember his dad, and these villains were the only ones who would oblige him.

McCulloch took Owen's cup to do a round of refills. "You dinnae have to look so gloomy."

Owen waved a hand at his dad's grave with a snort. If he wanted to be gloomy, he could fucking well be gloomy.

"You're jus' bringin' the party doon," McCulloch said, "An' you're no' even pished enough to justify it."

"I shouldn't be here," Owen said, "I should head home."

McCulloch shrugged and handed Owen a full cup, "Awright. We're doon to the last nip anyway, then we'll be headin' back to the safehoose. You can go then."

Owen made a noise of agreement and focused on his cup. It was better than joining in with the Rogues. The beer was poor quality, the sort Dad had liked before he'd died. Owen sniffed, feeling morose to his core, and poured the rest of his cup onto his father's grave.

True to his word, McCulloch staggered upright and opened a mirror-portal not ten minutes later. Owen got up, stretching out his stiff legs, and went over to go home.

The sky opened to a blackness that was the complete absence of light. Even in Avernus, Owen could feel down to his bones that something was very, very wrong. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but the light from the mirror-portal washed over them and pulled them hurriedly – haphazardly – into the mirror-world, as thought it was trying to escape the strange dark above.

Owen landed badly. His shoulder impacted the ground first and the rest of his body followed in the worst sequence possible. He lay there, panting, trying to summon the energy to move. His head was throbbing already and he really didn't feel up to opening his eyes.

It was a child's crying that finally got Owen to take in his surroundings. He might be a bit of a bastard, but he wasn't cruel enough to leave a kid sobbing like that. With great effort, Owen sat up.

The kid was sitting with his knees drawn up to hide his face (at least Owen assumed it was a boy, it was difficult to tell from this distance). Owen pushed himself to his feet with much swearing and limped over. He was walking on a beyond reflective surface and couldn't see the horizon, that meant he'd made it to the mirror-world. Great.

The Rogues were lying around, presumably unconscious for the time being. Owen decided to leave them where they were and carry on to the kid.

"Hey there, little guy," Owen tried, "You ok?"

The kid looked up at Owen, face red and covered in snot and tears. His lip was trembling and he looked like he was about to burst into tears again.

"I'm Owen," Owen said quickly, "What's your name?"

"M-Mick," the boy choked out.

"That's cool. I know someone called Mick," Owen said, "You want to be friends?"

"Not s'posed to talk to strangers," Mick snuffled, but he was starting to look calmer.

"Well, you can just stay with me until we get you back to your parents, ok?" Owen offered. He hoped that was how you were supposed to talk to kids. He'd never really spent much time around anyone this much younger than himself for any real length of time. Even teenagers didn't end up with Owen for very long – Axel didn't really count and Kara was another thing entirely.

Mick gave him a smile and wiped his nose on his sleeve. It was a bit big for him and Owen realised that Mick was sitting in adult's clothes.

"Fuck!"

Owen and Mick jumped as Axel jerked upright with a loud curse. Mick tried to get to his feet, but tripped over the over-large clothes and Owen had to grab him to keep him steady.

"Shut up, Axel," Owen snapped, "There's a kid here."

"What the hell did you call me?" Axel snarled. Owen stared at him in disbelief and Axel paled behind his mask at the sound of his own voice.

"Axel?" Owen said.

"I'm not Axel," Axel snapped, patting himself down with one hand and feeling his face with the other, "Shit."

Well, it was the mirror-world. Owen helped Mick stand up and came to the sinking realisation that the kid was swimming in Heat Wave's gear. This wasn't looking good.

"If you're not Axel, who are you?" Owen asked, dreading the answer.

"Captain Cold," Axel replied, staring at the other unconscious Rogues with horror clear on his face.

Owen just managed to turn his laugh into a quick cough. It still earned him a glare from Cold. It didn't work coming from Axel's face and Owen had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop from laughing hysterically.

"Wake the others up," Cold ordered, yanking off Axel's domino mask. It didn't help in the slightest, making him look even younger.

"I've got a kid here," Owen repeated, trying to help Mick stand up in his too-big clothes.

"I said –" Cold cut himself off and stared at Owen.

"What?" Owen started to pat himself down and ran into what Cold was staring at pretty quickly. "Fuck."

Owen had attributed his general soreness from his earlier landing and being off balance down to still being a bit drunk. Obviously he should have checked himself better before, as he would've noticed the curving of his chest and hips. Now he was listening for it, his voice was also sounding higher pitched too. Or maybe that was just him panicking.

"Lose the beard and you'd make a pretty girl, Boomerang," Cold said, with a leer that looked all wrong on Axel's face.

Owen couldn't deal with this.

"Owen?" Mick interrupted, tugging on Owen's sleeve, "Can we find my parents now?"

"That's Heat Wave isn't it?" Cold said, eyeing up the kid.

"I think so," Owen said, helping Mick out of the flame-retardant suit until he was dressed just in a shirt and boxers. Owen had to roll up the sleeves and tie off the boxers to make them even close to fitting. Mick still looked ridiculous.

Meanwhile, Cold had gone over to his body and tried to relieve it of his cold-gun. There was a thump and a yelp and Owen glanced over just in time to see naked fear on Cold's face as his freshly-split lip began to bleed.

Cold's body gave a low groan, then quickly twisted over and threw up.

"Eww," Mick said with a child's gusto at gross things.

"Trickster," Cold barked, or tried to anyway. Axel's voice wasn't made for giving orders.

"Aw, shit," Axel – since it looked like he was in charge of Cold's body for now – groaned, "What the hell was I drinking, man?"

Owen wished he had a camera to record Axel's reaction as he noticed his own body standing in front of him. Axel gaped, then quickly patted himself down, then made a strangled noise and started to choke.

"I'm old!" Axel moaned, once he'd gotten his breath back, "That's so not cool."

"Give me my gun," Cold demanded.

Axel started to unclip the holster, then stopped. "Why?"

"Why?" Cold repeated incredulously, "It's my gun. Hand it over."

"So what, I can just be unarmed?" Axle snorted, "Where's my tricks?"

"How the hell should I know?"

Axel stood up and Cold took a step back, looking ready to run at any second. The wrongness of the situation triggered the part of Owen's brain that had forced him to get up and look for Mick when he'd been crying.

"Give him the gun, Axel," Owen said.

Axel took one look at Owen and burst into an obnoxious laugh that didn't fit his new voice in the slightest. Owen could feel his face heating up bright red, one of the disadvantages of being ginger.

"Fine, man," Axel tossed the cold-gun to Cold. The smile Axel was wearing on Cold's face honestly made Owen feel like he was about to have his throat slit at any second. "You can have these too. Can't see a fucking thing," he added as he chucked the eskimo glasses over too.

Cold quickly put the glasses on and it helped to cover up the open expression on his face. Owen looked away when Cold glared at him, feeling sorry for reasons he couldn't place.

"Nice look, Boomerang," Weather Wizard said. He was standing behind Owen without any hint of how long he'd been there.

"Cram it," Owen said, "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Mardon said, a smug smile firmly in place. And it looked like he was telling the truth, a quick scan showed he was still adult and male – Owen pulled his jacket tighter – and there wasn't any of the confusion that Cold and Axel had been through.

"There's gotta be something," Owen insisted.

"You're welcome to search me if you want. I'm sure I'll enjoy it," Mardon said, with a sly look. Owen was getting really sick of being leered at.

"I'll pass."

"Where the hell's McCulloch?" Cold snapped.

Mardon snorted, earning himself a glare that promised a slow and painful death from Cold. Owen wondered what the chances of them all getting out alive were. Probably slim to none.

"McCulloch!" Cold cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. An odd, not quite echo reverberated around them, it made Owen's eyes water and Mick started whimpering.

"Wheesht!" McCulloch hissed – though from where, Owen couldn't tell, "You'll no' go anywhere wi' tha' kinda noise."

"Get us out of here and fix this," Cold snapped, apparently fine communication with a disembodied voice.

"Ah, that'll be... a wee bit gnarly," McCulloch said, "Me gun's fucked an' I've lost me sight."

"You can't see?" Owen asked.

"Aye, hen," McCulloch's voice sounded amused, "I didnae ken we'd found us a lassie."

"I'm not a girl!" Owen snarled.

"Doing a good job of pretending to be," Axel said, his unsettling grin still on Cold's face.

"Shut up!" Cold shouted, "How the hell do we fix this, McCulloch?"

"Gi' us a second," there was an odd shimmer and a glassy, transparent version of McCulloch appeared next to Mardon, "Still cannae see. Feck."

Mick tugged on Owen's hand and whispered, "Is that a ghost?"

"There's summet wrong wi' th' mirror-world though, I ken tha' much," McCulloch continued, "It's... huh, it kinda feels like hate."

"Hate," Cold said flatly.

"Tha's what it feels like," McCulloch said defensively.

"Fuckin' brilliant," Cold hissed.

"It seems to me that we should be looking for an exit," Mardon said, the corners of his mouth still pulling up in a smile that Owen wanted to punch off his face, "Mirror-world effects don't usually last long in the real world."

"Me pistol isnae workin'," McCulloch repeated, "We cannae jus' stroll oot."

"I've seen you use mirrors without it," Owen said.

"Aye, pre-set ones," McCulloch sighed.

Axel's head perked up. "Like the one in the hideout? Didn't you leave that ready for us to come back?"

"It's worth a shot, right guys?" Owen pushed.

"Might work," McCulloch agreed.

"And which way's that then?" Cold scoffed, gesturing to the vast and unusual mirror-world landscape.

There was an awkward pause as those with working eyes surveyed the area. Sometimes the mirror-world actively mirrored the real world and you could navigate by landmarks. The part they'd tumbled into was one of the messes of silver and white with no real substance.

"If we pick a direction and start going, we'll reach something recognisable eventually," Mardon suggested.

It was difficult to tell with a translucent face, but Owen thought McCulloch looked a little wary at that idea. He didn't say anything though.

"Fine," Cold snapped, "Weather Wizard, scout ahead. We'll follow."

"Ah, about that," Mardon said, a drop of hesitation in his voice, "We're in the mirror-world. There isn't any weather here. Not without McCulloch's portals to the real world."

"That's nae –" McCulloch's mostly-invisible form jerked away from Mardon, as Mardon shifted his weight, "...Aye. He's got the right o' it."

"There you go," Mardon said brightly.

Cold peered at them both suspiciously. Again however, it just didn't have the same effect coming from a body half as wide and a foot shorter than Cold's usual. You couldn't glare someone down if you had to look up to meet their eye-line.

"Right then," Cold said, obviously still displeased, but not doing anything about it. Yet. "Boomerang, take a run about. See what you can find."

"On it," Owen couldn't hide his relief at having something to do. He shook his hand where Mick was still gripping it, "I've got to go, kid. Stay here."

Mick just clung on tighter. Owen couldn't really blame him for being worried about the other Rogues. He tried to picture leaving Mick with one of them and it turning out alright, but he couldn't.

"Fine. You can come with me, but you've got to hold on tight," Owen said, crouching down to let Mick scramble onto his back.

"For fuck's sake, kid, leave the brat with us," Cold said

"No!" Mick appeared to have gained confidence now he was eye-level with most of them.

"There's no harm," Owen said, trying to shrug with Mick's arms pressed tight around his neck, "I can run with him like this."

Cold exhaled harshly and muttered something undoubtedly nasty under his breath. He pushed his glasses up to rub at his eyes, Owen felt another stab of pity and looked away.

"Dinnae go too far, ken," McCulloch advised, "If you git lost... dinnae git lost."

"Good to know," Owen mumbled.

There wasn't a way that stood out particularly, so Owen started jogging in the direction he was already facing. Once he had established the right rhythm to move to with Mick on his back, he kicked into top-speed, intent on letting his speed take him as far as it was able to and take a look around where it got him.

That was the intent.

"FUCK!"

Owen skidded to a halt and grabbed his chest, letting Mick drop in the process. The pain he'd assumed was due to Mick's tight grip on his shoulders had intensified dramatically when he'd tried to run fast.

Looked like running without breast-support was a bad idea.

"Ow, ow, ow," Owen hissed. He felt around his breasts and winced whenever his fingers poked the connecting tissue.

Axel's wrong-voiced, obnoxious laughter filtered over from the Rogues.

"That hurt," Mick said accusingly.

"Sorry," Owen said reflexively, even though in his experience you didn't count as hurt until you had more blood outside your body than inside.

With one arm carefully clamped over his breasts, Owen led Mick back to the Rogues, hissing everytime he stepped too heavily and jolted his chest. Mick watched Owen with worried brown eyes, but the other Rogues were still laughing when Owen reached them. He scowled at them.

"Let's have a look, kid," Cold ordered, still smirking.

"Like hell!" Owen flinched away and winced again as his chest gave a throb.

"Everyone needs to be fighting fit and I know what I'm looking for. You're really not my type, I like my women clean-shaven," Cold added, keeping up an unfairly reasonable voice. He'd always been a stickler for making sure all the Rogues went through the first-aid kit whenever they got back from a heist, or so Owen remembered.

"What'd you do to your women that they ended up injured like this?" Owen hissed, still not trusting.

Cold's face darkened. The flat stare on Axel's face gave Owen the creeps. "I had a sister. One who fought the Flash far more than you ever did," Cold spat.

Mardon sobered right up and elbowed Axel in the side, hard. Owen was only partially aware of the Golden Glider, but even he knew she was a touchy subject around Cold.

"Even so, I don't think she got you to help her," Owen said.

"I kept up to date on her medical records."

"...Alright," Owen said carefully. He had a feeling that disagreeing would cross a line he wasn't entirely sure was there.

"Shirt off, let's see the damage," Cold ordered, then pointed a threatening finger at the other Rogues, "Look and I'll have your eyes."

"No fun," Axel pouted.

"Wipe that look off your face. I'm a grown man, not a sulking teenager," Cold snapped.

"Not from where I'm standing you're not," Axel said cockily.

Cold gestured rudely at Axel. The distance between them must have been helping with whatever wariness he'd felt before.

Owen turned his back on the Rogues and stripped out of his jacket and tshirt. It was the first time he'd seen himself since they'd gotten into the mirror-world and all this crazy shit had gone down. Given that his active life-style had lead him to be pretty lean, Owen wasn't entirely surprised that his currently-female body hadn't managed to scrounge up much fat for a pair of breasts.

Or maybe he was perfectly proportional and just used to over-developed superheroines.

Along the sides and top of each breast there was a swollen, reddish mark. It hurt when Owen poked at it. Owen had gotten cuts, bruises, broken bones, and all manner of injuries before – it was inevitable in his line of work and he'd been a clumsy child – but this was freaky on a level that seeing his dislocated fingers bent out of shape hadn't come close to.

Amazingly, there was no leer on Cold's face as he hissed through his teeth. "That's gonna leave a nasty bruise."

"No shit," Owen said.

"That's ligament damage," Cold continued, "With any luck you ain't torn anythin' and some bindin'll let you run again."

"I'm not running again like this," Owen said.

"You might not have a choice," Cold said, "I'll see if we've got anythin' for bandages."

"Well that was useful," Owen muttered.

Cold gave Owen a glare that didn't look the slightest bit intimidating. "Your scarf'll do."

"What for?"

"Bandages. Keep up, kid," Cold said. He gave Owen's scarf a yank and choked him for a moment before Owen knocked his hands away and unwound his scarf himself.

Getting his breasts wrapped up was one of the more awkward moments of Owen's life. Cold was rough, but businesslike, and Owen didn't know what to do with his hands.

Owen had a stray wish for a sports bra, but clamped down on the thought quick, in case the mirror-world tried something freaky with it. He'd only spent a short time with the Rogues and working through mirrors on the job, but he remembered all the warnings McCulloch had given back then. The crazy shit he'd seen the Mirror Master do was still unbelievable.

"Let's go," Cold said, gesturing at the others as Owen pulled his tshirt back on, "I want to get out of here before something else happens."

Owen hitched his jacket on over his shoulders, absentmindedly running a hand over all his boomerangs out of habit, to make sure they were still all there. He left the jacket open, not wanting it to press against his sore chest.

Cold started walking in the same direction Owen had been running in. He nearly tripped over by taking too long a stride, obviously used to longer legs than Axel's. Owen bit his tongue and avoided catching Cold's eye as he overtook, dragging Mick into the lead. Owen didn't feel safe trusting the Rogues to keep a lookout for danger.

"What's got your boomerangs in a twist?" Axel asked, catching up to Owen easily. He'd picked up Heat Wave's flamethrower and kept adjusting the shoulder straps of the fuel tank as he walked, "Tits really that bad?"

"I'm fine," Owen snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and hating the way it was awkward.

"What's it like being a girl?" Axel asked, cocking his head.

"I don't know. What's it like suddenly gaining thirty years?" Owen snapped. Everything felt tender and he just wanted to get away from everyone.

"A nightmare," Axel rubbed the back of his neck and then rolled his shoulders, only to stop it with a groan. "Old man's got a crick in his neck I can't do shit about."

"What'll you do if we don't change back?" Owen asked.

"What? Be an old man for good? Fuck that," Axel said, trying to fix his neck again and failing.

"Everyone grows up sometime," Owen snorted.

"Totally not worth it," Axel groused.

"Goddammit!"

Owen looked back to see Cold sprawled on the ground, glaring at his feet. Axel started to laugh again, but this time it cut off into coughing for a good minute.

"Fuckin' shoes," Cold snarled, ripping the air-walkers off his feet.

"Can't you just switch them off?," Owen asked, trying not to laugh himself.

"Damned if I know," Cold said, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little to test the floor through his socks, "Don't care. Walkin' without them's easier."

"What the hell's wrong with your lungs, Cap? I can't breathe properly" Axel choked, barely over his coughing fit.

"That's what smoking will do to you," Mardon said, smugly. Owen was starting to wonder if he was ever not smug.

"Remind me to avoid it," Axel said, rubbing his chest, "Hey! You can't just leave my shoes there! That's not cool."

"I'm not wearin' them," Cold said.

"So? I'm gonna wear them when we're fixed," Axel said, storming back to pick them up, "How'd you like it if I just left your coat here, old man?"

"Do that and I'll make you regret it," Cold said.

"Oh yeah? How?" Axel said, standing in front of Cold and using every bit of his new height to be intimidating.

Cold stepped back and clenched his jaw. There was a tremor running though his clenched fists and Owen's protective instinct kicked in.

"Axel," Owen said warningly.

"Get off my back," Axel snapped, whirling on Owen, who flinched instinctively after years of being hit during costumed work.

"Stop fighting over petty things!" Owen snapped right back, angry at himself for being intimidated, "We've probably got a long way to go and it won't go any faster with you two bitching at each other!"

Cold snorted and Mardon gave a little chuckle. The serial-killer smile was back on Axel's face. Owen had the feeling he'd missed a joke.

"Whatever," Owen sighed. At least the tension was broken for now.

"Why don't you just swap?" Mick asked, poking his head out from where he was hidden behind Owen, "If he doesn't want to carry his shoes and he doesn't want to carry his coat, why don't they just swap, Owen?"

"Because they're not as smart as you," Owen replied.

"Hey! I'm totally smarter than a five-year-old," Axel said.

"I'm not five!" Mick said indignantly, as Owen muttered, "Not that you act it."

"Let's keep movin'," Cold said. He wasn't paying attention to Axel and nearly fell over again when his heavy, blue coat was dumped unceremoniously on his head.

There was a moment when Owen thought Cold would start shouting again, but with a wary look at Axel, he swallowed his tongue and moved on.

"You don't see that everyday," Mardon murmured.

"See what?" McCulloch asked from right behind Owen, making him jump.

"Don't sneak up on me," Owen said.

"If I wasnae blind I'd give it a shot," McCulloch said. The cheer in his voice sounded forced.

Owen sighed. He had to remember he wasn't the worst off by far. "Sorry."

"C'mon," McCulloch said, "You can be me guide-dug."

Owen looped his arm through McCulloch's and pulled him after the others.

The mirror-world wasn't consistent. The horizon kept shifting without drawing attention to itself and Owen found himself frowning every five minutes or so to try and figure out if it had been at that angle before. The ground was gritty beneath their feet, like fine sand, and sparked if Owen kicked his steel-capped boots against it hard enough. Yet Mick's feet weren't any worse off for being bare on it.

Owen had led McCulloch along for an hour or so, then Mardon took over and Owen was relegated to keeping ahold of Mick, as the kid had a habit of wandering off on his own if unsupervised.

"I want soup," Mick whined, tugging pathetically on Owen's hand.

"We don't have any soup," Owen said, distracted, "And I thought you weren't hungry."

"I feel sick. I want soup," Mick insisted, "Mom always makes me soup when I'm sick and it makes me feel better."

Owen put a hand to Mick's forehead. "You don't feel warm. Are you sure you're sick?"

"Yes," Mick said stubbornly.

"Hey, McCulloch," Owen called, "Are there any bugs in the mirror-world that this little guy could've caught?"

"None tha' I ken," McCulloch replied, with a glassy movement that might have been a shrug, "'Course I didnae make a habit o' pullin' weans through."

"I'm cold and I want soup," Mick complained.

Cold looked over at his name and frowned at Mick with a puzzled look on his face.

"Maybe Heat Wave was sick before all this," Mardon offered, "I can't recall him showing any symptoms, but a virus might've hit a child harder than an adult."

"Best if we just fix it quick," Owen said, "C'mon, Mick, I'll carry you if you want."

"You not gonna drop me again, are you?" Mick said suspiciously.

"Promise," Owen knelt down and let Mick scramble onto his back, "Here we go!"

"Can I be the blind one?" Mardon said, disgusted.

"Mark," Cold said, with a tone Owen couldn't recognise.

Mardon scoffed. "Don't try that, Len. Not in the kid's body."

To Owen's surprise, Cold dropped the subject. Owen hoisted Mick further up on his back and set off again, though not without several glances back.

Owen couldn't keep up the piggyback for more than half an hour and soon Mick was trotting alongside him again, hand firmly grasped in Owen's. Mick's skin was warm, but not to the point that Owen was ready to believe him about being sick.

"How long's it been since we started walking?" Axel complained, shrugging the heat pack uncomfortably on his shoulders. Cold had only been wearing a wifebeater under his coat and raw marks were beginning to show on Axel's shoulders, "Are we nearly there yet?"

"Shut up, Axel," Mardon said reflexively.

"C'mon. We must've been walking for hours!" Axel huffed, "Nothing's changed. We might as well be on a treadmill."

"He's right," Owen said, before someone could start shouting at Axel again.

"Can you figure anythin' out, Mirror Master?" Cold asked.

"I cannae see. Mirrors dinnae work wi' no light.," McCulloch said defensively. He was currently being shepherded by Axel, which, along with the heavy flamethrower, might have been the reason the Trickster was being particularly whiny.

"There's plenty of light," Cold said, "Doesn't matter if you can see it or not, it's there. Do somethin' with it."

"Tha's no' how it works," McCulloch said stubbornly.

Cold made a fist, but then looked at his hands and let out a sharp, annoyed breath.

"Why don't we have a rest?" Owen suggested, "Things'll look better in the... well, there's not really a morning, but things should be better after some sleep."

Mardon snorted and gave Owen a pitying look. "When have things ever looked better in the morning?"

"I'm just trying to be optimistic."

Mardon shook his head with a sigh.

"Well fuck you too," Owen said angrily.

"Owen?" Mick said tugging on Owen's hand again, "You'll get in trouble if you keep using bad words."

The non-sequitur threw Owen and he found himself replying without conscious thought. "In trouble with who?"

Mick had to think for a moment. "My mom," he decided gravely.

Cold's mouth pulled in a tight line that Owen somehow recognised as sorrow. He'd worn that same look when he was eulogising Owen's dad.

Mick's mom was probably dead.

"I'll..." Owen swallowed, throat dry, "I'll keep that in mind."

"Let's get some sleep," Cold decided.

"I'm not tired," Axel said, "We should keep going."

"Tha'll be the mirror-world," McCulloch said, "There's no food or drink an' we dinnae need them, but you can git worn oot."

"So we'll get some sleep," Cold said, trying for a tone that brooked no argument, but mostly came across as whiny in Axel's voice.

"If we're not getting tired we should keep going," Axel argued, "The faster we get out of here the faster I can be back in my own body."

"I agree," Mark said.

"I think we should rest," Owen said.

"Two for and two against," Mardon said, sounding amused, "Want to be the tie-breaker, McCulloch?"

"This isn't a vote," Cold growled, before McCulloch could say anything, "We're restin' and that's final."

"You're not in charge in here," Mardon said airily, "I'm much more inclined to listen to the blind man or the tranny. At least they can look me in the eye."

Owen flinched and crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously. Mick hid behind Owen's legs, peering out at the arguing pair fearfully.

"Like you ever got off your cloud to look anyone in the eye," Cold snarled, "Why don't you go back up? At least you didn't backtalk there."

Fury crossed Mardon's face. "There isn't any weather in the mirror-world!"

The force of the words made Owen take a step back and he nearly tripped over Mick. For a second, Owen wondered if he should intervene, but Cold didn't so much as flinch.

"Do I fuckin' look like I care about that? Get over it," Cold snapped, "Rogues look out for each other and right now that means gettin' some rest so we're sharp as ice for whatever this shithole's gonna throw at us and we're not at each others' throats."

"It won't help," Mardon said, his voice and eyes suddenly dead, "Sleep won't change anything."

"Mark," Cold started to say, relatively gently, but then glanced at his gloved hands and grimaced. When he continued to speak it was in a firm voice, "We need rest."

"It won't change anything," Mardon repeated quietly. He gave a shudder and turned away from the other Rogues.

Owen didn't know what to do. Once upon a time he'd thought that the Rogues were simple criminals. Dangerous and untrustworthy, sure, but pretty straightforward as criminals go. They weren't supposed to have more issues than the Suicide Squad and the Outsiders put together.

"A bit o' kip'll do us good, aye," McCulloch said into the silence.

"Fine," Axel threw himself to the ground and yelped when he landed heavier than he expected to.

"I'm not tired, Owen," Mick said.

"Well I am," Owen lied, "You might feel less sick if you get some sleep."

"...Ok," Mick sighed, as though it was a huge imposition for him to take a nap.

Owen chuckled and put his head down.

Owen wasn't sure what had woken him – maybe his subconscious recognised the hiss of phosphorous igniting – but he wasn't the only one stirring groggily. Axel, no Cold, was already upright and looking over the sleepers.

"Fuck's sake," Cold grumbled, scrambling over Mardon to get to Mick. The kid was holding a lit match and staring at it, enraptured.

Mick gave a heartbroken cry when Cold snuffed the flame. Tears were welling up in his eyes as Cold searched for every last match and lighter that Mick had somehow accumulated.

Owen went over to give Mick a hug when he wouldn't stop hiccuping wetly. The kid had stark black circles under his eyes and was drawn and pale to the point of looking sickly.

"You doing ok, kid?" Owen murmured, rubbing Mick's back.

"No," Mick sniffed.

Despite the fact that they hadn't needed food or water since getting stuck in the mirror-world, Owen wondered if Mick was suffering for it – being a child it was natural that he'd get hit first.

"Are you hungry?" Owen asked.

"I don't know!" Mick wailed, "I just want the fire!"

"You're not gettin' fire until you can control it," Cold snapped. He'd gone to sleep without his glasses on, but wrapped up in his heavy blue coat, which he had to keep pushing the sleeves up when he wanted to use his hands.

Mick sobbed into Owen's jacket, pressing uncomfortably tight against Owen's tender chest.

"How'd he get it under control the first time 'round?" Owen asked.

Cold shrugged, then had to irritably yank his coat back over his shoulders again. "He didn't half the time."

"Then what are we going to do?" Owen asked, more to the universe than Cold specifically. He was tired.

Cold didn't reply. Owen looked over to see Cold smiling fondly at him. Like he used to do when Owen started running with the Rogues just after his dad had died.

"What?" Owen snapped, somewhat more irritably than he meant to.

"Nice to have you back," Cold said, still smiling. On Cold's face it had looked paternal – scary, but paternal – on Axel's face the grin put Owen in mind of a kid pleased with his prize fighting dog.

"Don't get used to it, I'm leaving the second we get out of here," Owen warned.

"To do what?"

Owen opened his mouth, but no immediate answer came to mind. Mick shifted his grip, probably in response to the increasing tension, and made Owen flinch.

"Careful there, little guy," Owen said, glad of a distraction from his conversation with Cold.

"Sorry," Mick got out between sobs.

"Your spot's still open," Cold said, turning away and wrapping his coat tightly around himself to settle down for some sleep again, "Keep it in mind."

"I won't," Owen whispered to himself in promise. He'd spent a long time boomeranging between teams, trying to find a place in life, and he knew that the Rogues were the last thing anyone should look for in a team.

Yet, as he tried to soothe Mick and absently noted the trust between the group that allowed them to sleep near each other without fear of being backstabbed, Owen tried to remember the last time anyone had felt this much like family.

The next day, in so much as anything could be called a day here, waking up had been unpleasant for everyone. Most of the Rogues had forgotten what had happened to them overnight and there was a lot of confused shouting, especially from McCulloch. Waking up blind wasn't something Owen wanted to imagine.

About an hour's walk from their camp had Owen and the Rogues stumbling upon a strange part of the mirror-world that made it very difficult to proceed.

"I'd really like to know who comes up with this nonsense," Mardon said, surveying the way ahead, "I want to kill them."

"Probably Scudder. Laughin' at us from beyond the grave," Cold spat, "Bastard."

"Naw," McCulloch's translucent form appeared to be shaking its head, "'Sno' like Scudder were the firs' to go through the lookin' glass. How else've you got an explanation fer Lewis Carroll?"

"Fascinating as this aside is, it was a rhetorical question," Mardon said, "How the hell are we going to get past?"

"What's it like?" McCulloch asked, "Maybe I'll mind it if I ken wha' it is."

"It's hurting my brain," Owen said, "There's steps that go up and around, but they come back to the start of the stairs without ever going down again. I can't see a way around it."

"It's very... MC Escher," Mardon supplied, "I suppose that's another person who might've found his way through here."

"He must've been on some good shit for a rapper if he fixed the mirror-world like this," Axel snorted.

"He was an artist," Mardon corrected, with a look that normally would've had lightning sparking out the edges of his eyes, "Bivolo rather liked him. He did a lot of monochrome."

"Yeah, well, Bivolo tried to pass off colour-blind counterfeits as the real thing, I don't think he knew that much about art," Axel said, with a sharp laugh.

"Let's keep movin'," Cold said.

"Roy was more of an artist and a Rogue than you'll ever be," Mardon snarled, suddenly angry and in Axel's face. Maybe the graveyard drinking earlier had affected him more than it looked like and bringing up dead Rogues wasn't helping.

"I'm the one standing here and where's he? Oh yeah, dead," Axel hissed right back.

"Break it up!" Cold shouted, trying to push them apart.

Without even glancing, Axel shoved Cold out of the way and onto the ground. Cold's blue glasses fell off and the terror on his face was visible to everyone. Owen took a step forward, instinctively reaching out to help, but Cold pushed himself to his feet furiously and shot a wall of ice between Mardon and Axel, just before they came to blows.

"Argue on your own time," Cold snarled, "If you've not got anythin' to say about how to get across this shitty nightmare, keep your trap shut."

"Like you've been the picture of calm during every scenario!" Mark turned on Cold viciously, "Summer '96, ring any bells?"

"Shut the fuck up, Mardon," Cold snarled right back, "It's not like you've got any problems here, so shut. The fuck. Up."

Mardon laughed. There was a cracked edge to it that felt soul-destroying. Yet another reminder to Owen that there was something seriously wrong with everyone here. You didn't become a villain because you were successful at life.

"I'll try the stairs," Axel announced suddenly. His mask was still firmly in place and Owen couldn't tell if Mardon's laugh had unnerved him too.

"Be careful," Owen said, when it was clear no one else was going to.

Axel grinned a terrifying smile. "Piece of cake," he said cockily.

Mardon was watching Axel saunter over the the steps and gingerly test the closest. McCulloch's glassy form was stood next to the Weather Wizard and he had a translucent hand on Mick's shoulder. Owen figured he wouldn't get a better chance to ask what was on his mind.

"Hey, Cold. Can I talk to you?"

Cold had been watching Axel's attempt carefully, but followed Owen until they were far enough away that Owen was unconcerned about eavesdropping, yet they were still within sight.

"What d'you want?" Cold asked, keeping half an eye on the other Rogues.

Owen couldn't think of a tactful way to put it, so he just blurted it out.

"Why're you scared of Axel?" Owen asked, he kept his voice quiet, but Cold still gave him an icy glare.

"I'm not!" Cold snapped predictably.

"You're acting like it," Owen said.

"I don't come across many people who can knock me around without superspeed," Cold tried to deflect.

That didn't seem quite right. Owen trusted his gut instinct. "It's not just when he's hit you. And you just stood up to Mardon fine. What's so scary about Axel?"

"I keep forgettin' that we've switched," Cold said grudgingly, "I remember what it was like bein' a teenager..."

"And?" Owen pushed

Cold gave a bone-weary sigh and looked away. "And I look more like my father than I like to think about."

"So, you're having flashbacks?" Owen confirmed.

"Not entirely, but you've got the idea," Cold sighed again and stared at something that wasn't there, "He wasn't someone who had any right bein' a parent. I keep thinkin' I'm gonna get my arm broken again. I don't mean to... I keep forgettin' I'm not a kid anymore."

Owen looked over the rest of the Rogues. McCulloch and Mardon were still talking something over, while Mick watched Axel try going up the steps for the forth time. Something that Owen had wondered for a long time came back to him.

"Do you ever think that Axel thinks that about you?" Owen asked.

"What are you tryin' to say?" Cold said defensively.

"You're the one in charge here," Owen said, avoiding eye-contact, "Axel looks up to you, but you're bigger and stronger than he is and you aren't afraid to knock him around."

"Never said I had any business bein' a parent either," Cold said, but he was looking uncomfortable.

"Yeah, but you are one, so suck it up," Owen said, feeling stupidly grateful that Cold wasn't in his usual body. There was being brave, and then there was being suicidal.

Cold gave a sudden, short laugh. "This your round about way of tellin' me half the reason you stayed away was because I wasn't a good father after Digger died?"

That hit closer to home than Owen wanted to consider and his mouth moved before his brain could censor it. "You didn't even try!"

"Are you gonna stay if I say I'll try to be a better father?" Cold asked. He looked up at Owen consideringly, even going so far as to remove his glasses.

"It really doesn't work coming from Axel's mouth," Owen said.

"Doesn't matter," Cold shrugged, "I'll say it again when I'm back to rights if you want. Are you gonna stay?"

"I... I don't know," Owen admitted.

"I suppose you could always run off and join the circus as a proper bearded lady if you don't get fixed."

"Fuck you."

"Kid Boomerang!" McCulloch called, "The wean wants you."

Mick was pulling against McCulloch's invisible grip, trying to get away from them and back to Owen. Feeling wrung out as a dishtowel, Owen walked over, ignoring Cold's stare.

"Hey, Mick. You want something?" Owen asked, as Mick finally squirmed out of McCulloch's grasp and ran into Owen.

"'m not feeling well again," Mick mumbled into Owen's stomach.

"Should you be running around then?" Owen asked, totally channelling his old elementary school teacher.

"...No," Mick said, "But I really don't feel well an' they don't believe me."

"When we get out of here we'll all feel better, ok?" Owen said, "Can you be brave until we find a way out?"

"I want to go home!" Mick wailed, tears puddling in his eyes, "I want my mom an' dad an' soup."

"I know, Mick, I know," Owen said, "Can you stop crying until we get out of here? I swear we'll get you some soup as soon as we're out."

"Chicken noodle?" Mick sniffed, thankfully not getting any more hysterical.

"Yes, Mick, chicken noodle soup," Owen sighed, "But you've got to be brave, ok?"

"'k," Mick sniffled.

"Got anywhere with those stairs, McCulloch?" Cold asked.

"I've no' been this way in th' mirrors before," McCulloch said, "Should be safe though, the brat hasnae been ate so far. Try closin' your eyes."

"That's your brilliant idea?" Owen said, voice full of disbelief.

"There's naebody ken mirrors better'n me," McCulloch said, a possible smile stretching over his invisible face, "It's all a trick o' the light."

"Do what he says," Cold ordered, "Hey! Trickster!"

"Yo!" Axel called back, giving them a wave.

"Try closin' your eyes," Cold shouted.

"That's such a dumb idea," Axel called, but nonetheless he slapped a hand over his eyes and started climbing the stairs again.

"Easy way to get rid of him?" Owen asked out the corner of his mouth.

"Hell no!" Cold seemed affronted at the idea, "That's my body he's clownin' around in. And Rogues stick together."

"Yeah, right," Owen scoffed, turning away from Cold. He eyed up the brain-melting staircase and stepped forward, "I'll try it next."

"At least wait fer Walker to git to the other side," McCulloch said, stopping Owen with a glassy arm.

"Fine," Owen huffed, keeping his back to Cold. He wouldn't have been comfortable doing that if Cold was in his own body. That thought made Owen shiver and pull his jacket tight over his chest. He had to get out of here.

There was a yelp from Axel. Owen looked up sharply to see Axel sprawled on the ground on the other side of the staircase. Somehow, he'd made it over.

"Some warning would've been nice!" Axel shouted, getting to his feet with a groan.

"You made it, aye?" McCulloch called back. His translucent body shimmered as he turn to Owen, "Go on, Boomerang, if you're so keen. Git."

Owen flipped him the bird, then realised it was useless against a blind man, and walked over to the drop. It wasn't really a drop, more an empty, sucking hole of nothing, but Owen felt much better thinking about it that way.

The closest corner step was a short jump away – even Mick might be able to do it alone – and it didn't try any weird mirror-world tricks when Owen leapt for it. The step was an opaque block of white glass, slightly slippery underfoot, but covered in the same gritty dust that was everywhere in the mirror-world.

Owen looked up. The stairs ahead went on forever. He looked back. The stairs trailed behind him to infinity.

Well shit.

With a gulp, Owen closed his eyes and cautiously put his foot forward. The toe of his boot hit the next step. Owen started climbing the staircase, one slow step at a time.

Five steps later, Mardon's voice echoed over to him. "In your own time, Mercer. It's not like the rest of us want to get out of here this decade."

"Fuck you!" Owen shouted. Then he was tripping over something and falling. He was falling into the abyss and he'd never get laid again.

"Hey! Stop thrashing," Axel said, shaking Owen.

Owen opened his eyes to Axel's mask. Axel grinned and sat back on his heels. Then he grimaced and stood up properly with a dark mutter.

"I'm alive?" Owen said, then felt stupid when Axel cackled at him, "Shut up."

"The look on your face," Axel giggled.

"Shut up," Owen repeated, staring at the silvery-grey pseudo-sky above.

He continued to lie there, until Mardon landed on him heavily. There ensued a lot of flailing and Axel laughed until he broke into another coughing fit.

McCulloch followed, with Mick in his arms, and avoided the fight far too gracefully for a blind man. Cold took the rear and snapped at Owen and Mark to stop pushing each other, so they could keep moving.

"Owen," Cold said, getting Owen's attention as they set off, "Just so we're clear, we did look for you."

"What? When?" Owen asked.

"After you'd got separated durin' that mission for the Society."

"When you left me," Owen corrected darkly.

"I wasn't the one callin' the shots," Cold shrugged.

Owen wasn't going to let it go that easily. "You still left me."

"You want me to say I'm sorry, is that it kid?" Cold snorted, "'Cause that's not gonna happen. I don't do apologies."

"Because it's weak to admit you were wrong? That's bullshit you know."

"We did look for you," Cold repeated, "And even if we left you, you captured Mardon and McCulloch to put them on Salvation. Fair's fair."

"I was doing my job!" Owen protested.

"So you weren't the one callin' the shots?"

"Yeah!" Owen said, "...Shit."

There was something wrong with the logic there, but Owen was too tired, too emotionally drained to focus on it. He hated arguing with people who were this pushy.

"Your spot's still open, Captain Boomerang," Cold said.

"Go bother someone else," Owen snapped. He lengthened his stride to put some distance and the other Rogues between him and Cold, who couldn't keep up without jogging and therefore stayed away.

"Hello, Mark."

It was an unfamiliar voice and that, more than the malice contained in the two words, made Owen whip around as fast as he could. Mardon made an inarticulate sound and staggered backwards, away from the man who had appeared.

"The hell?" Cold pushed past Axel and levelled his cold-gun at the stranger, "Who the fuck are you?"

"Mark, don't you want to see me again?" the stranger hissed, "I can live again, if you help me."

"Clyde..." it was barely more than a breath from Mardon.

"Jesus Christ, we don't have time for this," Cold muttered, then louder, "Mardon, it's just the mirror-world messin' with you. Close your eyes if you have to, we're movin' on."

Mardon was shaking like a leaf. His face so white that Owen would've put good money on him fainting in the next ten seconds.

"Mark. Help me. Please."

Cold shot at the stranger and coated him in a solid layer of ice. "Mark, get it together."

"Clyde died to make the Weather Wizard," Mark's voice was still quiet enough that Owen was having trouble hearing him.

"And? You're still the Weather Wizard, whether or not..." an unpleasant thought appeared to have struck Cold. He yanked Mardon down to eye-level, though he probably only succeeded because Mardon let him, "You are still the Weather Wizard, right?"

Mardon gave him a sickly smile.

"Fuckin' hell, Mardon!"

"Mark!"

There was a crunch like glass underfoot and the ice around the stranger shattered. He looked unhurt, rather the ice hadn't done anything to his already-decaying body.

"Mark, please. I want to live. You want me to live," the stranger lurched forward and Mardon made a noise that sounded like he wanted to be screaming, but couldn't quite manage it.

Cold tried to blast the stranger in ice again, but the stranger knocked him aside with a gesture that produced a sudden gust of wind.

"You can't," Mardon whimpered.

"Of course I can," the stranger hissed, "Do you think I made that wand for you? It was to be mine! But you came and stole it after I died. Now, little brother, now I have my power back!"

"There's naebody there," McCulloch whispered frantically to Owen, "I cannae see, but I ken where everythin' is a wee bit. An' there's naebody there."

"You mean this isn't a mirror-trick?"

"I dinnae ken."

"Shit," Owen sighed.

Axel placed himself in front of Mardon, glaring at the apparition through his mask. "Weather Wizard's killed you once already, he can do it again!" he declared cockily.

"Can you, Mark?" the stranger seemed to find that funny, "Can you kill your only brother again? No. You want me to live."

"I didn't kill you," Mardon said, "It – the wand –"

"The wand only does what you want it to. I wouldn't be dead if you hadn't wanted it."

There was something wrong with that sentence, but Owen couldn't put his finger on it.

"But that doesn't matter, does it? I can live again. We can share the power. You just have to help me."

"...How?" Mardon breathed.

"Kill them."

The fact that Mardon didn't dismiss that right out of hand was scarier than the shambling remains of his brother. Each and every one of the Rogues was a fucked up nightmare. Maybe that even included Owen by now.

"Mardon..." Owen said, as a realisation struck him, sure as lightning, "Mark, it's lying."

"I know," Mardon said, not taking his eyes off the stranger, "But what if it isn't?"

"If your brother could control the weather wand, why did he let it zap him?" Owen asked.

"Because..." Mardon faltered.

"Mark, brother," the stranger pleaded, taking another step forward and reaching for Mardon.

"Stay back!" Axel shouted, he shot a blast of fire at the stranger, but misjudged his aim and was knocked aside by another gust of wind.

"Don't you love me, Mark?"

"Because... my brother had never used the weather wand," Mardon said, his voice was still quiet, but it was as strong as it had been before they'd entered the mirror-world, "Clyde had never known what it was to be a god."

"Rage. Avarice. Fear. Will. Hope." the stranger hissed, "That will do."

He lunged forward and clawed at empty air, as Owen yanked Mardon away in a burst of superspeed.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" Owen yelped. Even with one arm clamping his breasts down it still hurt.

"Come back, Mark. Come back, little boomerang. Don't you want to see your father again?" the stranger hissed after them.

Owen tripped. The tumbling skid he fell into across the gritty floor was going to leave a mark. Mardon slid off in another direction, but Owen didn't stop to check, his attention entirely on the stranger.

"My father?" Owen gasped.

"I can bring him here. You can help him live again, just like I offered Mark," the stranger hissed, lurching after Owen.

If Dad came back then Owen would finally be able to find his place in the world. No more flitting between teams. No more trying to be something he wasn't, whether it was a hero or villain, Owen wasn't trusted, didn't fit in anywhere.

Just him and Dad, as a family.

"Avarice. Fear. Hope. Love."

"Move, kid!" Cold shouted, jolting Owen out of his thoughts just in time to jump backwards out of the stranger's clawed reach.

"You're lying," Owen said, barely staying out of the stranger's grasp, "You... you're lying."

"But what if I'm not?"

It shouldn't have been so persuasive, it shouldn't, not with two attempts on their lives so far, but Owen felt his resolve slipping. Something was pulling at his feelings, and after an unrestful sleep and too many heavy talks, his mind was an emotional turmoil. He couldn't think straight and a seed of doubt was worming its way into his heart.

"Owen?" it was Mick's voice.

But he couldn't leave a kid like Mick – who just wanted to go home – to a twisted, undead monstrosity. He couldn't leave Cold afraid when he was the only one to see it. Axel was keenly aware of his own mortality and scared. McCulloch was terrified without his sight. They needed his help.

And Mardon knew what Owen was going through.

And no matter how much Owen's dad returning would give him a family, maybe he already had one here.

Owen stepped away from the stranger deliberately. It gave a snarl, making its already decomposed face look inhuman.

"I should show you. I can bring him here. I can bring them all here," the stranger hissed, a new metallic twang infecting its voice.

"Argh!" McCulloch collapsed. It was difficult to tell on a translucent body, was he holding his hands over his face? No, he was trying to cover his ears.

"What are you doing?" Owen demanded.

"I'm bringing them here."

"No' in my mirror-world! I'm th' one who says who comes an' goes here!" McCulloch shouted.

There was a dull whumph and it felt like something physically landed on Owen for a split-second. McCulloch was now entirely invisible, no trace of a glassy body remained.

"Weather Wizard, keep the kid out of the way. Captain Boomerang, Trickster, we're takin' him down," Cold said, levelling his cold-gun at the stranger, "If you're still around, Mirror Master, keep any others away."

"Wha' d'you think I'm doin'?" McCulloch's voice echoed around them, filled with frustration.

"Go!" Cold shouted, opening fire on the stranger.

Owen chucked a couple of razor'rangs at the stranger.

"What am I supposed to do without my tricks?" Axel complained.

"Hell if I know!" Cold shouted at him, "Either think of somethin', or get out of the way."

Axel's face lit up, the scariest grin on his face that Owen had seen yet. The Trickster immediately threw off the heat pack on his back and started dismantling it. Owen couldn't justify splitting his attention between the weather-controlling undead and his sociopathic teammate, but it was hardly the first time he'd had to keep an eye on someone he was meant to be working with.

And yet, Cold didn't so much as glance back. Whatever Axel was doing, Cold trusted him to do it right. Maybe Owen should try having a little more faith in the Rogues and concentrate on the fight in front of him.

"I'll take your hearts!" the threat was punctuated with a vicious sting of hail. Stormclouds were beginning to grow dark overhead and Owen didn't need Mardon's shout of warning to know that lightning was coming next.

Mardon had said that the Flash could outrun lightning, maybe Owen could too.

"Two minutes!" Axel shouted.

"We don't have that long!" Owen shouted back. No matter if the boomerangs that hit the stranger were razor-sharp or explosive, it kept coming. Shaking off ice and regenerating limbs with barely a pause

"I said two fucking minutes, alright! I can't go any faster," Axel snapped.

The hail was coming down hard and fast now. The lumps of ice were getting larger and it was difficult to see the stranger in the midst of it all, nevermind sending a boomerang through it all. Lightning struck right in front of Cold. He jumped back with a curse that Owen couldn't hear because the thunder crashed at the same time that Cold opened his mouth.

The Flash could outrun lightning? I was amazing Owen had ever tagged him.

"Whatever you've got had better be good enough to put him down for good!" Cold yelled over the ringing in Owen's ears.

"Relax. I've got this, old man," Axel called, a grin in his voice, "Fifty seconds."

Owen didn't see the bolt of lightning, but every nerve in his body lit up and then he couldn't see. White fire raced through him. Owen staggered. His eyes felt like they were burning for a second, then his vision returned. Chunks of ice hung suspended in the air in front of him. The hail slowed down to a crawl.

The sliver of speed he'd always struggled to catch wasn't so tiny anymore.

Holy fuck.

Beside him, Cold had his gun raised and the trigger pulled, yet the ice-white beam had only gone about a yard into the storm and was getting longer at a snail's pace as Owen watched. Behind him, Axel was halfway through turning the heatpack over, his hands covered in oily fluid.

In the storm, the zombie of Mardon's brother was easy to pick out amidst the drifting hail. Owen grinned, time for a Flash trick he'd never been able to pull off before. As fast as he could, Owen started running in circles around the stranger.

It was difficult to tell if it was working, but Owen could see the air distorting on either side of himself as he pushed his legs faster and faster. Loop by loop, a twister started to grow around the stranger.

Owen slowed to a halt and watched the anger and disgust start to flicker onto the stranger's face. The whirlwind was beginning to form, blurring the stranger from view. There had to be something else Owen could do to –

"Argh!"

Cold. Icy, burning cold hit Owen like a sledgehammer. His left shoulder went numb and had could feel his speed draining away with a sudden lash of hailstones on top of his body as time caught up. Owen staggered, tripping over his own feet, fighting to keep his footing on the uneven, icy, gritty ground.

A whumph of displaced air caught the stranger and tossed him haphazardly upwards. The hail died down and the clouds above lightened as the stranger lost his grip on them. At least Owen had managed to do that before stupidly standing in front of the cold-beam Cold had shot.

"Owen! Move!"

Owen turned his head to see Axel hefting the heatpack, ready to toss it into the storm. Surly he hadn't been numb to time long enough for Axel to finish up his preparations? Shaking the thought off, Owen stumbled away from the stranger at a walking pace, unable to reach even the sliver of speed he used to rely on.

Axel knew what he'd been doing – the explosion was deafening. Owen was thrown forward, getting a faceful of slush and grit for his troubles. There was a scream of outrage from the stranger that cut through even the ringing in Owen's ears.

"Owen!" despite half-deaf ears, Mick's cry was agonising.

Owen pushed himself up. If you can't run, walk. If you can't walk, crawl. If you can't crawl, inch forward. Keep moving, that's what Owen had been taught, keep looking forward and taking one step at a time or you would die. Even with the new ache in his chest and legs like lead, Owen staggered forward, watering eyes fixed on his friends.

Pressure slid over Owen, then a glassy wall shimmered into being between him and the stranger. It stretched and rose, until the rebuilding zombie was completely surrounded. When Owen reached the Rogues, McCulloch was back in his transparent form.

"I got 'im, aye?" McCulloch was asking. Still blind then.

"Looks like," Axel replied, peering at the storm trapped in the prism.

"Owen!" Mick squirmed out of Cold's grip and barrelled into Owen, making him hiss at the painful contact. Owen returned the hug, desperate for some stability. "Owen! Your shoulder's cold!"

"Yeah, I think I'm ok though," Owen hissed, letting go of the kid to pat down his shoulder. It was cold and numb, but he could move his arm with some effort and when he looked beneath his jacket, the skin was only reddened, not black with frostbite.

"Didn't know you could move that fast, kid," Cold said, with no trace of apology in his voice.

"It's not going to happen again soon," Owen said.

"Do you think there's going to be anyone else? He's not the only one that could've come back, right?" Axel asked. There was a oily smear on his nose where he must have rubbed it with greasy hands.

"Aw, shite," McCulloch groaned, "It's bloody obvious, ain't it?"

"Spell it out. I'm not in the mood for riddles," Cold snapped.

"We're all trapped in the mirror-world, an' I've been havin' trouble getting' things to work the way they should," McCulloch said, "An' we've jus' had Mardon's brother back from the dead. Who else's go' a good enough grasp on the mirror-world to do summet like this?"

"You're sayin' it's Scudder?" Cold confirmed.

"Aye. I cannae see an' naebody else could take a Mirror Master on their own turf, 'sides the Flash," McCulloch said, "If Scudder's gone the way o' Mardon's brother, we should be leggin' it."

"I could use a rest," Owen said.

"There's no' enough time," McCulloch said, "No' if Scudder kens we go' it figured oot."

McCulloch sounded desperate, moreso than Owen had ever heard before. Owen had seen some crazy shit via McCulloch's interaction with the mirror-world, and the thought of that power in the hands of someone better than McCulloch and out for death sent a trickle of fear down Owen's spine.

"Let's go then," Cold ordered. He grabbed McCulloch's arm and pulled him along, asking questions in a low voice that Owen couldn't quite make out.

Owen ignored his tired legs and obediently tagged along after – it was something he was used to doing – but then he noticed that they were a person down. Only Mick and Axel were following, Mick holding Owen's hand and Axel practically skipping without the heat pack weighing him down.

Mark was stood where they'd left him, staring at the stormcloud beyond the glassy prism walls.

"Go with Axel, Mick," Owen said, "I've got to go back a sec."

He'd expected more of an argument – Mick had never taken to Axel, showing surprisingly sensible caution for a child – but Mick trotted over happily and started chattering excitedly about the explosion and if it was possible to make it even bigger.

Must be a pyromaniac thing.

"Hey, Mardon," Owen snapped his fingers in front of Mardon's face when his words didn't do anything. Only the barest flinch showed that Mardon was paying any kind of attention.

Owen looked over his shoulder. The other Rogues were making steady progress and would probably get out of sight soon. Owen didn't want to end up lost and stuck as a girl forever.

"C'mon, Mardon," Owen pulled him along by his elbow, "We need to catch up with the others."

Mardon let himself be steered without protest. The dull look in his eyes was way creepier than the lightning that usually filled them outside the mirror-world. Owen tried not to look and lengthened his stride to catch up to the others.

"Aren't you going to leave me again?" Mardon said, voice as dead as his eyes, "You did it before. Me and Mick. Shipped us off to that hellhole of a planet."

"I haven't got orders to this time," Owen replied.

"Orders," Mardon snorted. He fell silent, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. Owen didn't let him go, worried that Mardon would stop walking again.

Up ahead, Mick was still happily chattering at Axel, who must have been in a very good mood after blowing up Clyde, because he hadn't tried to run Mick off yet. Or he just liked the attention and was enjoying having a fan. Further ahead, Cold was nodding along to something McCulloch was saying as well as scanning their surroundings.

"Hurry up," Owen said, trying to pull Mardon a bit faster, "I don't want to lose sight of the others."

"What does it matter? We're not getting out of here," Mardon said, looking back at the storm again.

"For fuck's sake," Owen grumbled, "Stop getting hung up on the dead when we need to move."

"Fuck the dead," Mardon said.

"Then what the hell are you angsting about?" Owen snapped.

"You tasted it back there, didn't you?" Mardon said, fixing Owen with a look that Owen still expected to have a crackle of lightning accompany it, "True power."

"I just went a bit faster," Owen said. The pure speed and adrenalin rush that went with it was more than that, but Owen didn't want to think about how un-fucking-fair it was that the Flash got to experience that all the time. If he started to think about it, Owen would stop like Mardon had.

"It's not like it matters," Mardon said, as though he hadn't heard Owen, "Real superspeed or a pale imitation, we're stuck here. The blind leading the blind."

"We're going to get out," Owen said decisively.

"Are we?" Mardon asked, his voice hollow, "We're going to die. There'll be no one left to bury our remains in Avernus and we're going to die. I'm never going to feel the wind again. I should've let Clyde kill me," dead eyes focussed accusingly on Owen, "You should've let Clyde kill me."

"I'm not going to let anyone die if I can stop it," Owen said.

"Hero," Mark snorted.

"You know, my dad left a message on my phone just before he died," Owen said, "I'd give up my superspeed to have him say it to my face so I could talk him out of the job."

Mardon gave his broken laugh. "I'd bury Clyde again with my own two hands for my rightful power."

"So it's not about friends and family dying, you're having a nervous breakdown because the weather wand doesn't work for you right now?" Owen clarified. Somehow he'd expected to be more surprised.

"Its... complicated," Mardon said softly, "My power comes from death. My power causes death. I am unto a god, but what is a god without being able to smite? What is a god that cannot give and take? Clyde. Roy. Lisa. Your father... Even James. I couldn't... I..."

"You killed your brother," Owen said.

"That was never my intent."

"No justifying it with godhood?" Owen sighed, "You can't even get your story straight. Pick something and stick with it."

Mardon shook his head and looked away. The dismissal left Owen feeling wanting. He gave Mardon a harsh jerk forward.

"If you fall behind I'm leaving you," Owen threatened.

"Rogue," Mardon said, albeit with a fond tone.

"Shut up."

The first shimmer hanging in the air didn't get a second glance from Owen, until Axel yelped.

"Hey! I know that shop!" Axel jogged over to the shimmer and tried to put his hand through it, only making the shimmer wobble further. "Lame."

Owen looked closer. Through the shimmer he could see a street. It was vaguely familiar, it certainly was a street that looked like it belonged to Central City in Owen's mind.

"Is this what unset mirrors look like?" Owen asked.

"We would've seen a lot more if that's the case," Cold said, nevertheless dragging McCulloch closer to have a feel of the shimmer, "There's a lot more mirrors around that you'd think."

"I might've used this one before," McCulloch said, blindly groping at the shimmer, "It's nae any use noo."

"Can we use it to work out which direction to go?" Owen asked.

Cold studied the image through the shimmer, frowning behind his glasses. Eventually he pointed a little off the way they came.

"That's the way I'd get back to the safehouse," Cold said, "But we're in the mirror-world, so fuck if I know."

"It's not just... backwards?" Owen felt stupid even suggesting it.

"Aye, sometimes," McCulloch said with a short laugh, "If it were consistent, anybody'd be usin' it."

"Just once. Just once I'd like something to be easy," Owen muttered. Then, louder, "So which way do we go?"

McCulloch gave a transparent shrug. "Further oot from Scudder'd be best. Let's no' go back tha' way." Despite his easy manner, Owen could hear an undercurrent of fear.

As they set off again, Owen glanced back over his shoulder and maybe it was just his tired eyes, but it looked like the silvery-grey sky behind them was darkening. Owen stepped up his pace, keeping his grip on Mardon to hurry him along. If that was Scudder's doing, Owen didn't want to be anywhere near it.

Thankfully, more shimmers started to appear before them. They looked so natural in the gritty-grey mirror-world that it nearly felt like they'd been there the whole time and it was only just now that Owen was noticing them.

Using the shimmers, and Cold and Axel's knowledge of Central City, it wasn't long before Owen started catching glimpses of the Flash museum and recognising more and more of the streets they passed.

A structure of grit and silver rose up out of the ground, suddenly there without obviously appearing when Owen could've sworn there was nothing ahead of them. The structure held a shimmer trapped on its surface and, between cracks and grit that looked like it had come from what passed as the floor of the mirror-world, there was a wonderfully familiar sight.

The safehouse.

Even though Owen's memories pulled up the smell of stale beer, mouldy walls, and dusty mattresses, that was heaven compare to the neverending silver-grey mirror-world.

"Alright, Boomerang, you first," Cold ordered.

"What? Why me?" Owen protested. The mirror looked even more unpleasant close-up, the cracks surrounded by an oil-slick rainbow of colours. Owen's faint reflection was warped to near unrecognisable.

"Because we don't know what's on the other side, or how long it'll take us to get fixed," Cold said, "You can still run."

"What a vote of confidence," Owen muttered, but nonetheless stepped forward.

Getting through the mirror was like pushing through a wall of semi-hardened molasses. The parts that weren't solid were gooey and clung to Owen's clothes and face unpleasantly.

"Keep goin'," McCulloch said, when Owen grimaced and stopped moving, "The sooner you git it o'er wi', the better."

Owen decided that opening his mouth to shoot back a comment would be a bad idea when he had a faceful of crystallised mirror-substance. He pushed forward, shuddering at the gritty scrape against his skin.

Stale, cold air washed over Owen as he pulled himself through the rest of the the mirror and fell out of it into a heap on the dirty warehouse floor.

"Owen!" Mick yelped.

"I'm ok," Owen said. He gave himself a quick once-over, then did it again to make sure.

Sweet merciful heavens, he had his balls back.

"Awright, I'm gonna go," McCulloch said, "Git."

Owen jumped to his feet and got out of the way, revelling in the fact that his chest didn't hurt and his pants were no longer digging into his hips.

"Ah!" McCulloch flinched away from the light as he dropped out of the mirror and covered his eyes with his hands, "Feck."

"Are you alright?" Owen asked, trying to rein in his enthusiasm at being fixed and failing miserably.

"I'm no' complainin'," McCulloch said, "It's jus' bright."

"So you..."

"Aye, I can see," McCulloch squinted through his fingers up at Owen, making eye contact for the first time since Avernus.

Owen whooped and punched the air. It felt like the most euphoric moment of his life.

"Me next!" Axel said. He hit the mirror solidly, "Hey! What's the deal?"

"Wheesht, you wee ned. You'll have to go with Snart at the same time, else who knows who's gonna end up where, you ken?" McCulloch said.

Axel groaned and thudded his head against the mirror. Mardon stepped up to a grimy part of the mirror next to him and cautiously put his hand against the surface. After a second, Mardon's hand slid through the gritty silver and grasped at the empty air beyond.

Owen realised that he'd braced himself for a sudden change in the weather, but nothing happened. Mardon continued to push through the mirror, much slower than Owen or McCulloch, almost as though he was afraid of what he might find on the other side.

The second Mardon bodily staggered out of the mirror a harsh wind whipped up then calmed within seconds. Mardon looked very emotion. Owen kept his eyes focussed on the mirror to give him some privacy.

That was probably the only reason Owen noticed the black shadow appearing behind the others still in the mirror.

"Shit! Get out quick!"

Cold glanced back, swore, then chevied Mick toward the mirror first. The kid flinched away from the grimy mirror with a look of childish disgust.

"Come on, Mick," Owen cajoled, reaching his hands forward to help, "It's not as bad as it looks." It was much worse, but even though Owen wasn't good with kids, even he knew that saying that outright wasn't a good idea.

Mick put his hand against the glass then quickly yanked it away. "It's sticky," he complained.

"It's not that bad," Owen insisted. Was the dark shadow growing tendrils now? Owen tried to keep his face neutral, but felt apprehension creep into his tone, "Come on. Look at me and push through."

Mick tried again, but couldn't sum up the courage. "I can't, Owen."

"For fuck's sake." Cold grabbed Mick by the scruff of his neck and chucked him at the mirror. Mick cried out and hit the glass, but bounced off like it was solid. Thankfully Axel's body didn't have much strength behind it, so Mick wasn't injured, though he was starting to tear up.

"Come on," Owen said, reaching his hand back through the cracked mirror. A tingling, burning sensation ran over his fingers and up his arm, changing him back into a girl. Owen tried to ignore it and focus purely on Mick, "Come on, Mick. I'll help you through."

Even with Owen's reassurances, he wasn't sure if Mick would've taken his hand if Cold hadn't been quite so threatening. Mick gripped Owen's hand tight and let Owen pull him through the mirror with only a few whimpers.

Once Mick was on the other side, Owen had to take a hasty (non-speedy) step back to avoid Mick's sudden change into adulthood.

Mick staggered. Completely off-balance and totally bewildered for several seconds, until his brain processed what his eyes were seeing. Owen put a hand on his arm reassuringly.

"Where's my flamethrower?" Mick rasped, his voice freakishly deep to Owen's ears after so long listening to a child's version.

"Fuck your flamethrower," McCulloch said, still too cheery at being able to see to put any real heat into the words, "Oot the way."

Mick stumbled again, not entirely away from the mirror. Owen took pity on him and pulled him out the way entirely, so McCulloch could focus on getting Axel and Cold out of the mirror-world.

Shadows were thickening deep in the mirror. Owen's eyes kept being drawn back, seeing peculiar shapes in the darkness that was approaching unrelentingly. Even though he was still high on finally being male again, the urge to make a stand or flee was prickling at the back of Owen's neck.

Owen was distracted from staring at the shadows, not by Cold and Axel's attempt to get out, but by Mick cursing loudly as he rummaged through a couple of singed crates.

"Bastards!" Mick ripped open another crate, but whatever he was looking for wasn't inside, "They took my stuff!"

The irrational part of Owen's brain that got him into trouble in serious situations considered chiding Mick for swearing.

"Who?" Mardon asked. He was trying to sound disinterested, but lightning licked the corners of his eyes eagerly.

"What do I know?" Mick snapped, "It's not like they left a calling card. All I know is my flamethrowers are gone."

"Could be some kids," Owen offered.

"Naw, kids'd be messier," Mick said, "Could've been a cop raid. They sometimes do that."

There was a heavy thud behind them, followed by several yelps from Axel in a voice that worked for him. Sure enough, both Axel and Cold had emerged and were acting like they were in the right bodies. However, there was a sticky tar-like substance caught on them like a thick cobweb and it was trying to pull them both back into the mirror, if their struggle was anything to go by.

"McCulloch!" Cold shouted, "Get the fucking thing closed. Trickster, give me my gun!"

"It's gotten stuck!" Axel yelped, trying to gain traction on the dusty warehouse floor in bare feet.

A flash of light blinded Owen and a bone-rattling BOOM nearly knocked him off his feet. When his eyes cleared, he saw McCulloch frantically doing something to the large mirror, while Cold and Axel shook off the last of the tar substance, which was slowly turning into the silver grit of the mirror-world.

"I missed that," Mardon said softly.

They really were free of the mirror-world. Owen gave a tired laugh. He was looking forward to a takeout and a bed. And spending some time alone.

"Quiet," Cold was halfway through peeling Axel's mask off his face and stock still.

Owen cocked his head and heard faint... "Sirens," he sighed, "Does it ever end?"

"They must've been watching the place," Mick said, "Set up cameras when they took my flamethrowers."

"I'm looking forward to this," Mardon was already moving toward the door.

Actually, doing some damage sounded really therapeutic right now. Owen ran a hand over his boomerangs to count them. He was doing alright for general numbers, but he could do with stocking up on razor'rangs.

"Ready to go?" Cold asked Owen, shrugging his coat on and grinning that scary, paternal smile, "Rogue?"

"Whenever you're ready, Captain."